
Class 



_ 



3 



Copyright N ° 1 -1 ; \ : . 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



RAIN IN MAY 



RAIN 

IN 

MAY 

AND 
OTHER 
VERSES BY 
FORNTASSIN GIFT 




BOSTON 

THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY 

1918 



Copyright, 1918, by 
The Four Seas Company 






T rp> 



The Four Seas Press 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



JUN 21 1918 
©CI.A497952 



WITH 

ADMIRATION 
ALSO 



THIS 

BOOK IS 

INSCRIBED 

TO LILLIAN EYRE 



RAIN IN MAY 

FOR LILIAN 

As your wild heart keeps 

Laughter of Spring; 
As your wild heart leaps, 

Thus would I sing. 

Thus would I fling 

My soul into life, 
Feel the keen sting 

And glory of strife . . . 

Exultant in pain, 

Forgetful of sorrow, 
Eager to gain 

Surprise to-morrow. 

Everywhere Beauty 
Sings through the rain 

Joy is a duty — 
Regret is vain. 

Divinely sane 

With the laughter of Spring- 
Through wind and rain 

Thus I will sing! 



CONTENTS 

RAIN IN MAY 7 
VERSES IN THE OLDER IDIOM 

TO A MORNING-GLORY 1 3 

AFTER BLAKE 14 

THE STAR 15 

TO ADIR NAMIR l6 

"NO MAGIC MUSIC COULD I MAKE l8 

DIRGE IN OLDEN STYLE 19 

THE SEA 20 

autumn fantasie 21 

love's arrow 22 

"l worshiped from afar" 23 

to the cayuga 24 

on a sketch 26 

to william watson 27 

to solitude 28 
"weary of turning page on lettered page" 30 
" 'tis winter, and my cheerless room is cold" 31 

WILL 3 2 

AMBITION 3 2 

PARDON 33 

SLEEP 33 

LOVE 34 

OTHER VERSES 

TO ELIZE 37 

TO A BUTTERFLY 39 



CONTENTS 

the music student 40 

the haunting mood 41 

"beneath the pentagonal lamp" 42 

CHANGE 44 

SKETCH 45 

STATEMENT 46 

JINGLES FOR JUNE 49 

SONNETS 

PRELUDE 63 
"HIGH ON THE ROCKY SHEER OUTJUTTING LEDGE" 64 

TO RICHARD WAGNER 65 

ON A PICTURE OF MY MOTHER 66 

THE ARTIST 67 

HIS CREED 68 

ROMANCE 69 

THINE-MINE 70 

THE HOUSE OF HAPPINESS *]2 

TO MUSIC 73 

THE POWER OF SONG 74 

ROSE REVERIE 75 

CHILD OF THE SOUTHERN HILLS 76 

BEFORE THE HEARTH 77 

APRIL SUNRISE 7^ 

POSTLUDE 79 



VERSES 
WRITTEN 
IN THE 
OLDER 
IDIOM 



TO A MORNING-GLORY 



White morning-glory, fragile flower, 
Touched by the dew of dawn and lined 
With mellow purple from the sun, 
Thy goblet only let me pledge 

To my fair lady of the tower. 

Here is the tangling fretted vine 
Within the garden she designed, 
So carelessly yet deftly done: 
This tiny cup above the hedge 

I'll drink — the dew shall be for wine. 



[I3l 



AFTER BLAKE 



Child of fortune and of fame, 
Genius of the seven lakes, 

Stars transcendent gleam red flame, 
When thy sleeping spirit wakes! 

Guardian of unmeasured store, 
Fountainhead of glorious art, 

Mistress of tradition's lore, 
Who invades thy inner heart? 

Child unborn, yet living, dead, 
Essence pure of all mankind, 

Unknown god and goddess wed, 
In the gist of human mind! 



[Ml 



THE STAR 



I sat in a crowded car 

And sought to free a song, 
Surrounded by noisy people 

And bored by the journey long. 

But thought became fixed as a star 
That rode in stately advance, 

And I looked on the town and the steeple 
In a strange unwonted trance. 

The trance showed a vision afar 

Of a fragile purple flower, 
Perfect of petal and sepal, 

Born one idyllic hour. 

I stooped to pluck the vision, 

Changing to opaline mist, 
And a smile was in the flower 

Superb in dream and tryst. 

* * * 

Mockery and derision 

Came the laughter in the car: 

But I turned to the night in that hour, 
And saw my ascendent star. 
[15] 



TO ADIR NAMIR 

i. 

Your face is like a rare intaglio 

Upon a moonstone cut, and set within 
A diadem of rich pearl-broidered stuff: 
Something that rajah or sultan would wear 

And vaunt possession, but might never know 

Its real value. Men would travel through 
The mountains and the seven seas to win 
By trade or stealth such treasure: but enough- 
When pilgrims see your beauty they must swear 

The gem Earth wears upon her brow is you! 



[x6] 



II. 

Dear one of silent speech, could I translate 
Your regal beauty into living verse, 
Presenting that perfection to the sense 
By interlinking strands of melody, 

No other labor would I consummate. 

To you all tribute of success belongs : 

All those who share our children will disburse 

Pure admiration as a recompense, 

And precious coins of praise, in company, 

Only to you, the mother of my songs ! 



[17] 



"NO MAGIC MUSIC COULD I MAKE" 



No magic music could I make 
To curl in eddies upward far, 
And gild the hours where you are 

Beside the hill-girt sapphire lake: 

Although in Slumber's gliding car 
Dreams bring me music for your sake, 
And I may worship when I wake 

The wonder of your splendid star. 



[18] 



DIRGE IN OLDEN STYLE 



I wandered through a wood at eve 
And sat me down within a dell. 

More deep than was the ancient well, 
Were the wild eyes of Isabel. 

Why should the wretched lover grieve 
To hear a weary funeral knell? 

More deep than was the ancient well, 
Were the wild eyes of Isabel. 

Would that God might her soul receive — 
One day of fear her wits did leave. 
More deep than was the ancient well, 
Were the wild eyes of Isabel. 

For simple country folk believe 
That on her mind weird evil fell. 

Thus do I wander near to hell, 
Because no learned men can tell 
The way to break the wizard spell 
That holds the mind of Isabel. 



[19] 



THE SEA 



O the sea, the sea, and its hungry waves, 
The ghostly wind as it moans and raves, 
The will of the stars and their cryptic chart, 
Ah, these belong to the sailor's heart! 

O the ever changing opal sea, 
With its lure of unspoken mystery, 
And ships that rove on its trackless waste, 
They are land and mansions to sailor taste! 

O the gorgeous dark of the sunken sea, 

And its deep unfolded destiny! 

A bright coral strand will the sailor tread 
When he goes to his grave on the ocean bed. 



[20] 



AUTUMN FANTASIE 



When I look out upon the Western hills 
Clad in their glory of Autumnal hues, 
And see the luscious fruit and ripening grain, 
And all the visioned opulence of things: 

A deep emotion my whole heart enthrills. 

O mellow time of harvesting and cheer, 
What vivid passion surges to infuse 
Our voices in one happy christening strain? 
The Sun and Earth have formed new offerings, 

Born in this flaming splendor of the year. 



[21] 



LOVE'S ARROW 



A laughing boy and winsome girl 

Who tryst in the summer moon-glow, 

Forget the careless little blind god 
And the random shots of his bow. 

Ah, who will sing the pain of love? 

A mischievous, maddening thing: 
And though barbed the point of the arrow, 

Many hearts crave its sting! 



1 22] 



"I WORSHIPED FROM AFAR' 



I worshiped from afar, 

Her hand and mine met never: 
She seemed exalted as a star, 

Untouched forever. 

Among the night's pale gems 
A robber passed unnoticed. 

Thus flowers die with broken stems- 
In splendor, death-kissed. 



[23] 



TO THE CAYUGA 



I know a lake among the hills 

Unsung, unknown to fame, 
But something in my being thrills 

At the mention of its name. 

There are tall groves of red pine trees 
And vineyards near the shore, 

And orchards too, in companies, 
Upon the valley floor. 

There is the little valley town, 
('Twill be the same forever!) 

There's memory like an unseen crown, 
That Time will rob me never. 

There is the university 

That draws men from afar. 
It stands in proud serenity 

As patient as a star. 

Like castles are the many halls 

Clustered about the crest, 
And gorges where the waterfalls 

Play magic songs ungues sed. 
[24] 



To walk in silence on the slope 

And watch the red sun rise, 
Inspires the soul with lustrous hope, 

And freshens wonder-wise. 

And this to me in other days 
Was really an enchanted realm, 

When wandering through the shadow ways 
All garlanded with elm. 

And oh, the charm this lake land gives 
In Autumn splendor dressed! 

A deathless fountain spirit lives 
In the blue hills of the West. 

■ m - mm^ i ' : 

May never liberty forsake 

This happy hallowed air — 
Beloved country of the lake, 

May you be ever fair! 



[25] 



ON A SKETCH 



It suggests by a vague indefinable play 

Her face, in unbridled unravished delight, 

Like a fawn in a beautiful wilderness caught, 

Still wild and lithe, and caring for naught : 

Let us loosen the fetters and watch the swift wight 

Spring bounding away — leap to freedom — away! 



[26] 



TO WILLIAM WATSON 

[Written in my copy of his "New Poems"] 



Titan, whose message brief, but strong, 
Rings out in mighty epigram, 

And like a braided iron thong 

Whips shame upon pretentious sham: 

Thou faithful scribe of vital word, 
Though braving exile-prophet's ban, 

Still wield the master's keen edged sword- 
Not Melodist — but Superman! 



[27] 



TO SOLITUDE 



Stern daughter of enfolding night, 
You haunt the forest and the margeless sea; 
In never conquered realm of airy height, 

Near sunset mountain vistas rare, 
Among caverns without entrance and sound- free, 
With future things unknown and unaware, 

Your brooding spirit is there. 

When woven darkness shrouds the land, 
You spread your curving wings of raven gloss 
And bid the champing winds obey your hand; 

Then wander through wide earth and heaven. 
You send as courier the albatross, 
Sometimes the dawn and opening flowers seven, 

Or death, with bitter leaven. 

No gate opposes your slow knock, 
The villa and the hut are your abodes : 
Your face, the cloud- frown or the smiling rock, 

Has myriad moods, emotions wild. 
You know the traveler on gloomy roads, 
The stricken mother with her still-born child, 

And pariah reviled. 



[28] 



Ranging the bleakest plains of time, 
The bearer of a strange invisible torch, 
And banished messenger from court sublime, 

You beckon to pro founder sense, 
Dimly from star's aerial pendant porch, 
Leading the soul along a pathway hence 

To happier eminence. 



[29] 



"WEARY OF TURNING PAGE ON LETTERED 
PAGE" 



Weary of turning page on lettered page, 
I turn light low and glide into the dark. 
How cool the sombre night ! Its dewy tears 
Are shed upon earth's coverlet of green: 

Past is the stormy grief and troubled rage. 

Peace of the night, descend and make me thine! 
Whirl me aloft into heaven's high arc, 
From disappointed hope and heavy fears, 
To peak subliminal and realm unseen: 

There let me rest in dreamless sleep divine. 



[3o] 



" 'TIS WINTER, AND MY CHEERLESS ROOM 
IS COLD" 



'Tis Winter, and my cheerless room is cold. 
The sharp wind whistles mockingly outside, 
The ceiling with its plastered cracks looks down 
Upon bare walls and carpet gray, 

And gloom stares through the curtains torn and old. 

I light the last chips on the hearth. I must. 
It's cold. The little swords of flame, untied, 
Leap from their scabbards — prongs around a crown ! 
Their blaze soon done, the garnet embers play, 

Then die. So fade my hopes to ashy dust. 



[3i] 



WILL 



Why not then argue thus, 

And let this cut doubt like a knife; 

Are we what life makes us? 

Not so — we are what we make life ! 



AMBITION 



Ambition is that force in man 
That bids all dormant powers rise, 
And teaches that he ever can 
Obey the law of sacrifice. 



[32] 



PARDON 



When blind injustice is an ember 
From your heart you cannot lift, 
Think not vengeance, but remember 
Pardon is a perfect gift. 



SLEEP 



Gladly I go to sleep, 

And should death fall before night ends, 

Smile — do not weep, 

Friends. 



[33] 



LOVE 



Love is a festered thorn within the breast: 

The surgeon Time probes, slow and insolent, 

Once having found it, then he gives no rest. 

With forceps he names Disillusionment, 

He drags it forth with many a ribald jest. 

And though the wound by skilful hands be dressed, 

The pain abides, beneath the sewn-up rent. 



[34] 



OTHER 
VERSES 



TO ELIZE 



Elize, your boy-chum remembers 
How like a bird you would preen, 
In the olden golden Septembers, 
Before you were even fourteen. 

Never were apples so mellow, 
Never were sunsets so red, 
When I wove of scarlet and yellow 
Garlands about your head. 

The leaves whirled in wild elation 
To see if the wind could tire, 
And we shared strange jubilation 
As we sat by the smoking bonfire. 

And through those glorious summers, 
Together early and oft 
We used to play like mummers, 
Up in the old barn loft. 

Out of all I recall one hour, 
And sure enough, the clouds did turn gray ! 
They said there might be a shower — 
When sun-amber flooded the day: 

[37] 



Purple grapes in clusters 
I stole behind the house: 
Plums with dim blue lustres, 
You hid them in your blouse. 

Then to escape the thunder, 
Upstairs in the loft we lay; 
And when we had eaten our plunder- 
Fell asleep in the hay. 

Dappled tiger-lilies 
Were symbols you told me of — 
When we, two serious sillies, 
Vowed undying love. 



[38] 



TO A BUTTERFLY 



Butterfly, Butterfly, 

Flitting, fluttering, 

Born in a silken shell somewhere, 

With the wild flowers 

Daintily puttering, 

Wondrous things are the wings you wear! 

Butterfly, Butterfly, 

Flitting, fluttering, 

How have you come to our garden rare? 

What strange enchantment 

Is your love uttering 

Now to the rose that glows so fair? 

Butterfly, Butterfly, 

Floating, soaring, 

Lost in the luminous blue up there — 

Of the wild flowers 

Adored and adoring, 

Creature of gold in a mold of air! 



[39] 



THE MUSIC STUDENT 



My hands are tired: I have practised much. 
Within the loitering twilight do I sit, 
To ponder on the problems overcome, 
And greater labors yet to undergo, 

Before an audience thrills to greet my touch. 

Beneath, the growling trains of traffic roll, 
And Winter's gloomy weather seems unfit. 
But joy is mine, though finger tips are numb ; 
The instrument has taught me how to know 

Its secrets, and the pathway to my goal. 



[40] 



THE HAUNTING MOOD 



On cliffs above the harbor 

And the naked surge of sea, 
You stand beside the cottage — ■ 

And I hear you whisper to me. 

I am bored with books and papers, 

With play or drudgery ; 
For I would reach out to capture 

And bring you here close to me. 

Though states block the way between us 

And wide be the barrier sea, 
Over all the city's discord — 

I hear you whisper to me. 



[41] 



"BENEATH THE PENTAGONAL LAMP" 



Beneath the pentagonal lamp 

Suspended in blue air, 
I sit and wonder for hours 

How you fare. 

Beside the mahogany table, 

When midnight has slipped away, 

Alone I sit and ponder 
The gift of day. 

For life at best is a riddle, 
At worst a grim charade : 

And no one knows the answer 
When the game is played. 

While hours whirl in elusion, 
Smoke thins to nothingness — 

I can only wish you may gather 
Sheaves of success. 

Days one by one say farewell, 
And idols crumble to dust. 

The disused sword of ideals 
Is broken with rust. 

[42] 



To you falls the heritage joyful, 
Contented, happy — blind. 

To me are years of wandering — 
The great undefined. 

And though life is but a riddle, 

Or a grim charade — 
Here's to the fight to finish, 

If only with half a blade! 



[43] 



CHANGE 



The withered leaves, that lingered late, 
Are fallen now from stripped bare trees ; 

And fallen with them lie prostrate 
My childhood hopes and fantasies. 

Good-bye, sweet imagery — great dreams — 
How sad, yet foolish it all seems. 
In future I can never dare 
To build more palaces of air. 

But onward, ever on, goes life — 

Its warfield now is manhood's land — 
I must forget — and understand 

That all existence is but strife. 



[44] 



SKETCH 



One happy moment, single and superb, 
Waylaid me by the dark apartment door. 
It was so unexpected, — just before 
We had been chattering beside the curb. 

Mayhap because I felt naught could disturb 
The calm — our party had been all a bore — 
One happy moment, single and superb, 
Waylaid me by the dark apartment door. 



[45] 



STATEMENT 



I've started on a journey 

Whose ending is somewhere: 
It's many years to travel 

Before arriving there. 
I just hold back the questions, 

And leave the doubts unsaid 
I trust somehow in a future, 

And plod on straight ahead. 



[46] 



JINGLES 

FOR 

JUNE 



AT THE WINDOW 



And I wonder what you are dreaming 
Your lips are like red apples, 

Dark waves your tumbling hair, 
As I see you sitting there : 
Your eyes are absently gleaming, 
And seem to be unaware; 
Your freckles are little brown dapples, 
But they add a touch debonair! 

I would kiss those lips like red apples 
That pout such a pretty dare, 
And lose my hands in the gleaming 

Of your rippling ebony hair: 
I would sing your eyes to dreaming 
And hold you beside me there; 
Your freckles are funny brown dapples, 
But I love you, so why should I care? 



[49] 



INVITATION 



My summer house among the trees 
Is cool and quiet every day, 
And from the ocean miles away 
In drifts a breeze. 

There in the sleepy grass at ease 
The idle flowers nod and sway, 
And over them at plunder play 
The yellow bees. 

I know my summer house will please, 
And if you care to call some day, 
You'll find the path — it's tucked away 
Among the trees. 



[50] 



With violets 

And triolets 

We wove the morning into play — 

And histories 

Of mysteries 

Wafted the afternoon away. 

* * * 

And oh, to swim 

With joy abrim 

Out from the fresh lake's pebbled rim — 

While sun allows 

To lie and drowse, 

Or watch the yachts with swaying bows. 

* * * 

For little cones 

And lucky stones 

We hunted on the beach all day — 

And quips of chance 

Or circumstance 

Blew the sunlit hours away! 



[51] 



Could I but speak within 
The clinging voice of violin, 

While you danced splendidly, 

Ecstatically — 

Or could my song compose 
The vibrant odor of the rose, 

In garden where you were 

A worshiper — 

Could I in moonlight gleam 

Through latticed windows of a dream, 

And kiss your tangled tresses 

With light caresses — 

Then happiness were mine, 

A music from the spheres divine, 

And love would be 

A melody! 



[52] 



Those clouds are fantastic cobwebs 

Swaying in corners up high, 
And the moon is just an old lantern 

Hung on the top of the sky. 

The gossiping trees are asleep now, 

But through that misty gray glade, 
Do you know the crickets make music 

For the elves to masquerade? 

Hidden on the veranda, 

We grudge the moon its light, 
The while in slow zarabanda 

Shadows dance through the night. 

And the clouds are gossamer hammocks, too, 

Hanging in corners up high, 
And we swing through gardens of slumber — who? 

Why — You, the Moon, and I. 



[53] 



Between the reeds and the rushes 

The bullfrog strums his banjo, 

While the fresh stream gurgles and gushes, 

And falls in the pool below. 

Up yonder the faithful pines cover 
Our nested brown bungalow ; 
Overhead the purple clouds hover, 
And the sun on the hill swings low. 

Has the afternoon gone, my lover, 
Have the hours vanished so soon? 
She slumbers — and I sing above her 
Songs that are born in June. 

And now idyllic hushes 

Waken with sunset glow, 

And with them she wakens and blushes 

At being discovered so. 

The spring still gurgles and gushes 
And falls in the pool below, 
While between the reeds and the rushes 
The bullfrog strums his banjo. 



[64] 



Perhaps I will bring you roses, 
Perhaps a handful of pearls, 

To that elm-shaded spot 

Of fancy begot, 
Where dragon-fly dozes 
And cool water whirls — 

Where green canoes point their noses 
And the lapping wavelet unfurls, 

In that willow-wood plot 

The yellow sands dot, . 
And your dear head reposes 
Enclustered with curls — 

I may only bring you roses; 
Perhaps the pearls would destroy 

That small elfin grot 

The good gods allot, 
Where silence encloses 
Our haven of joy. 



[55] 



SILVER BROOK 



Our little brook 

Behind the barn 
Runs through the field 

Like a thread of yarn. 
And half concealed 

In tiny nook 
Our little brook 

Becomes a tarn. 

She tells me things, 

With laughter low, 
About the birds 

And how trees grow. 
But in her words 

And whisperings 
She tells me things 

That I would know. 



[56] 



My lady fair 

Climbed mountain high, 
In velvet dressed, 

'Neath the sapphire sky. 
And my request 

Met with a stare, 
My lady fair 

Gave no reply. 

My brook will tell 

At afterglow, 
When sunset kiss 

Gilds all below. 
The joy I miss 

Will hurt— although 
My brook will tell 

All I would know. 



[57] 



LARGO 



When June just seems to blend with July, 

And the flowers drowse in the noonday heat, 

And the lazy locust ambles by, 
We know a cool and cozy seat — 

Up in the cherry tree, you and I. 

While handfuls of crimson are hanging nigh, 
You are a princess and I a prince, 

Our state is all spread before the eye, 

In an orchard of apple, peach and quince — 

Up in a cherry tree, you and I. 

Latticed with leaves is our house on high, 
The boughs are stairs for us to climb, 

Right underneath the broad blue sky. 
Oh, who could have a happier time — 

Than two in a cherry tree, you and I? 



[58] 



Tears, like a sudden shower, 

Cross my lady's face — 
Grief rushes in to devour 

Care- free laughter and grace. 

Muttering of sombre thunder 

Ushers in the rain — 
But the rainbow emerges in wonder, 

Greeting sunlight again. 

Tears, like a sudden shower, 
Go from my lady's face — 

Leaving, a perfect dower, 
Tranquility — in their place. 



[59] 



In ecstasy of sadness 

I waited for a word — 
The blank day grew, and then I knew 

It never would be heard. 

Oh, that we might undo 

The cord of memory! 
Because in gladness or in madness 

Fate cuts ruthlessly. 



[60] 



SONNETS 



PRELUDE 



To pour out life in song! Ah, radiant thought! 
This is a lamp before my stumbling feet : 
Let all my verse as offering be brought 
Art's sovereign Heiress-Mother to re-greet. 

Then let my rhyme inweave a tapestry, 
With love in glowing color finely drawn, 
Picturing in bold lines Earth's pageantry, 
The call of Justice and the worth of Brawn. 

So does the eternal drama move in pomp, 
Where men act parts by Impulse, so-called Fate; 
Where rollicking Fun must have its clownish romp, 
And Sorrow, Joy and Sorrow alternate. 

Then pour out all of life in song, my soul, 

While circling stars fly toward their ultimate goal. 



[63] 



High on the rocky sheer outjutting ledge, 

While speeding day spreads wide blue wings in flight, 

Pensive I sit upon the dizzy edge, 

And strive to read my destiny aright. 

The days of fond illusion now have passed, 

Already luscious Summer drifts away, 

Soon I will face the Winter's icy blast, 

And banished, fight in a world grown old and gray. 

Strong manhood sets a seal upon lost youth, 
Ambition flares a torch before the eyes, 
Bidding to join the search for absolute truth, 
Or lead new steps of some large enterprise. 

So I will labor onward in the van, 
And try, whatever threats, to be a man. 



[64] 



TO RICHARD WAGNER 



You are the master of stage panoply, 
Who, delving in the Northern mythic lore, 
Brought forth from fragments of old legendry 
Synthetic dramas none had dared before. 

The people of the Niebelungen Lied 

Live once again in cave and mountain hall, 

And in the web of treachery and greed 

The ancient gods crash downward to their fall. 

Bewitching mind with mingled hope and doubt, 
In mixed emotions, brilliant light or gloam, 
Your music pours its living message out, 
With heartbeats for a mighty metronome. 

Proud maker of great tapestries of sound, 
With agelong admiration you are crowned! 

[Note. — Wagner once said that while composing 
his heart beat time to the music] 



[65] 



ON A PICTURE OF MY MOTHER 



Was this my mother's face? Well, I am glad. 
Was she so beautiful? I don't recall 
Her features; she died when I was a lad. 
I recollect the sick-bed — her silk shawl. 

She used to tell this story as I kneeled — 
A lovely lady lost her little child; 
Some gypsies stole him, playing in a field, 
And so he wandered, outcast, rude and wild. 

This made me sad. I used to turn and wince, 
But smiled, in fond hope she would soon be well. 
The tale was true — for I have wandered since 
A vagrant, with achievement yet to tell. 

But now, beholding her untroubled eyes, 
I really know she lives in Paradise. 



[66] 



THE ARTIST 



TO OLAF BRAUNER 



If paint and brushes, dead things in themselves, 
Shall show the secrets of our inner hearts, 
Only the man who deep in nature delves 
May reach the summit of this Art of Arts. 

Only the man with eyes of heart and mind, 
Who stands long hours in the day and waits 
Inspired moments that ride with the wind, 
May find himself the chosen of the Fates. 

Such oft knows Sacrifice a visitor, 
A slough of suffering threats to bar his goal, 
And many years of toil must pass before 
The painted canvas can reflect the Soul. 

Yet if the mortal does the height attain, 
His Immortality rewards all pain. 



[67] 



THE ARTIST'S CREED 



If song be in our hearts, why need we care 

That some may pass and hear with unconcern? 
Or if we shout, and with elation burn, 

Why should we heed the idler's stupid stare? 

If we express our visions as we dare, 
And men in ignorance fail to discern 
Our painted parables; or even spurn 

As ugly, works that we consider fair — 

We will not listen to detracting cries, 
And do not understand cold apathy : 
Art is the symbol of our lives' intent. 

Then let us sing, and shout, and represent — 
For some will read with eyes of sympathy, 
We are convinced that Beautv never dies. 



[68] 



ROMANCE 



Romance, I have forgotten you, return! 

And fill my hollow life with splendor young; 

Shake off this heavy blindness that has hung 
About my searching eyes, intent to earn 
Mere concrete gold. Ah, now let me discern 

Sunlight in bloom beneath the trees upsprung, 

And through the ecstasy of tears, my tongue 
Shall free the songs that in my being burn. 

Not yet forgotten, but a dormant flame 
Among the hidden fires of memory — 
Arise! Burn warmly, brightly, joyously; 
The earth is fair, the flowers are all aglow, 
And on the lake the mirrored mountains grow — 
Romance, I could not see — before you came ! 



[69] 



THINE— MINE 



For drab convention let us make amends, 
Vowing that time is but an idle whim, 
And drink together of this cup abrim 

That Spring with wayward Fancy blends. 

What lavish treasuries Earth-mother spends — 
The sunset cloud above the ocean rim, 
The fresh arbutus and the lark's glad hymn 

Dear heart, what feast of beauty she extends! 

Let us enjoy all, for a little while, 
Before us the elixir of our youth, 
Let us the magic cup together drink — 
(We never taste it twice, by any guile.) 
Dear heart, we shall unite in very truth, 
And let the world to deep oblivion sink! 



[7o] 



II. 



Thine — mine shall be this one immortal hour, 
That Fate in some forgetful moment gave, 
Now we shall drink forbidden joy we crave, 

And be divinely satisfied w ; th power. 

Though afterdays may frown and dull years glower, 
No storm shall break what now we shall engrave 
Upon this hour, the fairest architrave 

In Memory's imperishable tower. 

The dawn divides the indigo of sky, 
And soon I shall be vanished utterly — 

See — yonder heaven's cup of brazen fire ! 

But in one welded kiss has our desire 
Been wholly sated — and within the tower, 
Mine — thine has flown this one immortal hour. 



[7i] 



THE HOUSE OF HAPPINESS 



I sought to find the House of Happiness, 

From childhood, as when first I heard the sound 
Of laughter: then methought that it was found — 

'Twas but the entrance to a wilderness. 

Years later when I learned I could trangress, 
And live with lust, I visioned it was drowned 
In seas of sorrow. But still journey-bound, 

I could not stay, and took the trail by guess. 

I traveled through the fair Illusion Hills, 

Across the arid plains of Drudgery, 
Up to the city of Old Age and Ills. 
And there I met a pilgrim with a wand, 

Who at the door of Death directed me: 
"The House of Happiness lies just beyond ..." 



[72] 



TO MUSIC 



Inspired Music ! Language of the soul — 
Oh, could the listening ear thy liquid tones 
Receive, as dew within a silver bowl, 
And hold all precious like encrusted stones. 

Then would life be one vocal trance, 

A wandering through the tints of mind's mirage, 

A habitation in aerial manse, 

Possession of a priceless heritage. 

In truth thou art a spirit, rhythmic Tongue, 
Who governest all mortals by caprice, 
Enchanting like some censered perfume swung 
With whorls of smoke before Love's altarpiecer 

Now playing to our hopes, our eager fears — 
Now like a statue melting into tears. 



[73] 



THE POWER OF SONG 



Song forges the immortal from the man, 
The hammer life, the anvil iron earth : 
Then never ceasing rhythm of cosmic plan, 
From glowing crude beat out a sword of worth. 

A flaming sword to cut the mountain road 
Through all hard obstacles of circumstance, 
Uproot the tyrant habits that corrode, 
And place a soul beyond the clutch of chance. 

One purpose, single, centric and unmixed, 
Driven on by the all-conquering "I can !" 
Will yoke the thunderbolt from sky unfixed, 
Or with frail wings gray ocean's fury span. 

O Song, infuse me with this living breath, 
And I will follow you to body's death! 



[74] 



ROSE REVERIE 



I wandered through a garden when a child, 
And stole a rose, to drink its fragrance sweet. 
With mossy mortared steps, a friendly seat, 

And dreams, long sunlit hours were beguiled. 

In boyhood's unruled kingdom, running wild, 
I climbed the gorge and waded with bare feet 
The terrace mazes of its plashing street — 

A pagan, with school never reconciled. 

Grown older now, I sometimes flee the whirl 

And smothering strife of earthly greed and men, 

To view that garden and the darling girl 

Whose fresh-blown spirit is a rose to me. 
Unsated, but renewed in hope again, 

With uplifted head I face reality. 



[75] 



CHILD OF THE SOUTHERN HILLS 



Child of the Southern Hills, your occult gift 
Descends upon me, and removes the chain 
Of circumstance and worry from my brain, 

To soothe the heart and heal the widened rift. 

And as the weeping clouds ride on adrift, 

While night drinks up the crystal cleansing rain, 
I think the tears of heaven dissolve my pain, 

To bring sweet sadness and my soul uplift. 

Child of the Southern Hills, forever be 

The Presence that descends, as rain in May, 

Awhile to cleanse and purge the earth full free 
From toil-stain and insidious decay: 

Come, as the pattering rain, at night to me, 
While I go on my solitary way. 



[76] 



BEFORE THE HEARTH 



Upon the sapphire throne of memory 
You reign, my princess of illusions rare; 
The starlight forms a crown about your hair, 

And loveliness robes you entirely. 

You wave a sceptre lightly, airily, 

And sudden moments on the spiral stair 

Of dream return — the dalliance we did share — 

To hint fulfilment of what once could be. 

And in your clear blue eyes there seems to wake 
The happiness of some untold desire — 

You come so near — your parted lips will break 
This poignant silence of the silver lyre — 

But dream collapses in an ashy flake, 
And leaves me gazing at the ember fire. 



\77\ 



APRIL SUNRISE 



The morning floods the valley 'tween the hills 
Where opalescent mist floats hazily : 
The distant vale with dancing sunshine fills, 
The ridge awaking, stretches lazily. 

Great clouds like an armada sail along 
In outspread squadrons on a turquoise sea : 
The birds at nesting sing their welcome song 
And fly elate about each budding tree. 

The grass is green, and Spring is here at last ! 

Greeted again, like exiled rightful king, 

This re-creating spirit will outcast 

Each tattered garment and each useless thing. 

Then let us cast all sordid things away, 
And waken to the glorious new day ! 



[78] 



POSTLUDE 



When I reflect on all that I have writ 

In moods of sorrow, hope, in pain or joy, 

It seems I have suppressed all that is fit, 

And left inscribed much that I should destroy. 

So many thoughts, forgotten or thrust in, 

Make useless by omission or excess 

The finest woven harmonies I spin : 

And there are runes that I cannot express . . . 

But consolation quivers in the thought 
Some will glean deeper meaning in my rhyme, 
Some will attain the snow crests I have sought, 
Reach Immortality that laughs at Time! 

Should I not be content with what I gain? 
Work done in faith was never given in vain. 



[79] 



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